RHYS
The dining room was quiet, the kind of silence that only existed after the kind of heavy mourning had drained a room of every ounce of life. It wasn’t completely still though, ice clinked in glasses, hushed conversations floated over the low hum of the air conditioning, and the scent of expensive scotch and cigars mixed with the faint, lingering perfume of the women.
I leaned against the far wall, my eyes landing on Alex. She sat with her father, Connor, her frame small in the chair beside him. She wasn’t crying, wasn’t even speaking, but there was something about the way her hands fidgeted in her lap that caught my attention.
She’d been avoiding me, or more specifically, my brothers. I didn’t blame her. After what had happened with Reed, anyone with half a brain would steer clear.
